Theyre not entirely alone. There are also 300 head of cattle, dozens of deer, nine horses, at least one jackrabbit, untold mountain lions, swarms of large-horned sheep called aoudad  hundreds of them. I ask to get the lay of the land, insomuch as one can when the land spreads out for 60,000 acres. Waynelle suggests we take a mule up to the spring and then go look at the canyon. A mule ride sounds nice  a slow ride on a slow animal  and certainly easier than jumping right onto a horse. Except, I quickly learn, the mule that Waynelle is referring to is not a four-legged horse-donkey hybrid. The Mule is actually a four-wheel-drive machine that looks like a golf cart built for the Terminator. As such, it is ideal for getting over the rock-strewn paths that cut through the ranchs hills and valleys.

The rocks. So many rocks. The Mule climbs. It falls. It sways like a small boat on a rough sea. Waynelle shouts over the Mules engine and the crunching rocks beneath us, People say that when God got done with creation, he took all his leftover rocks and put them out here. People might be right.

I ask her if the ranch doesnt feel like a desert island sometimes. In miles, its not far from the stores and art galleries of newly hip Marfa. But that rocky road makes it difficult, almost treacherous, to reach. Once youre here, youre really alone. How does one live like this? I wonder aloud. Waynelle wonders in return: How do you live with all those people around you all the time in the city?

Theres no time for an answer, because we are about to fall off a cliff. The Mule is 18 inches from the edge and Waynelle must maneuver. Shes searching for a good view of the canyon that cuts a swath through the ranch and runs nearly all the way to Mexico, which is in view from the ranchs hilltops. The canyon is something right out of an old Western. This whole ranch is. Plentiful cacti. Hills and valleys. Bright sunshine. No wonder Bear Grylls, from Discovery Channels Man vs. Wild, shot an episode here. He went down into that canyon, surviving for a couple of days on rattlesnake meat. Alonzo Flores, the ranchs full-time wrangler, also tasted a bite of the rattler. Tell em how that snake was, Alonzo, Red will insist later, while frying homemade tortillas for lunch. It was pretty bad, sir, Alonzo replies. I spit it out when they werent looking.

After dismounting the Mule, its time to really ride. We head for the stables.

Alonzo has to fetch the horses. I follow him up the hill behind the ranch house, where a few horses graze on a ridge in the distance. Alonzo whistles loudly. The horses eventually heed him, walking first and then galloping toward us. They get bigger. And bigger. And louder. And faster. Im going to be trampled! I scramble back down the hill. This is not a good start.

When did horses get so big? Ive been up close to horses before. Ive ridden on their backs twice. But most of my equine experience has come while gambling at racetracks, wearing a suit and tie. But even up close, those thoroughbreds didnt look as large as the ones at Old Alazan. Maybe Im getting smaller.

Alonzo saddles up. Joining him are Kevin, the Strachans son-in-law, and two of his friends, who are here to hunt aoudad. Waynelle tells me that Buck is my mount. The plan is to ride north to where a few dozen cattle are gathered and lead them down a hill a bit. Its not so much a cattle drive as it is a cattle walk-around.